Game of Shadows
by SinsofYouth
Summary: A new evil threatens the fledgling peace in Amestris. Assassinations, mass vanishings and whispers of a dark new puppet master drag Ed back into a world of intriegue he thought he had escaped forever. Set after the events of FMA: Brotherhood. Eventual Roy/Ed citris. Mentions of Ed/Winry. This is rated M for a reason.
1. Chapter 1

**_Sorry, I know I have like a gagillion other stories that I have to finish, but this one was burning a hole in my brain since I finished 'My Hero'. I know what I want to to with all the other stories I have up. It's really just a matter of buckling down and doing them._**

**_This is going to be a long one, probably a little shorter than 'My Hero'._**

**_Warnings: I'll be doing a Chapter by Chapter warning system, just to be safe._**

**_Please feed-back; I thrive off it. Enjoy._**

**_This is Un-Beta-d. All mistakes are my own._**

* * *

**A Heart Made Fullmetal- FMA: Brotherhood**

**Prelude**

The nights in Amestris were getting colder.

He shivered and burrowed deeper into the cocoon of threadbare blankets and newspapers which was his home.

Thirty years of vagrancy had afforded him little in the way of monetary comforts, but he found the solitude suited him.

He had a name once, a home, a family. War in the South had taken them all; it was the beginnings of his journey across the vast land, Amestris.

He had settled here at length, enjoying what anonymity there was to be found in the slums and derelict structures scattered liberally about.

He stayed away from other homeless. He wanted no more connectedness with others, he had enough of such things to last him a lifetime.

The winds were sweeping down from the North, a conquering army. It slipped icily through the seams and crevices in his nest.

He shivered again. He would have to find something more to use for covering for his aged bones could not stand the harsh temperatures as once they did.

He heard, amongst the whistling of the breezes, a single step. And then again, closer this time: a single, methodical, step.

He peered into the darkness beyond his nest. His eyes could discern no shape in the wide maw of inky blackness.

Yet he could not deny the footfalls which came steadily closer.

He called out, certain that it was someone else in search of a shared bed.

No answer came back, but the feet marched with eerie monotony.

He called again, a pang of alarm checking his stomach. Still the feet came with no answer.

He reached out for the knife he carried with him, tucked inside a coat pocket and always close. He drew it and emerged from the swath of cloth and papers. The crinkling rustle covered the footsteps for a moment, and then both were gone from the chill night air.

He breathed, knowing more than seeing the fog which fled his mouth. For a time it was the only sound to challenge the wind.

He called out a third time, begging they show themselves, asking what they wanted.

This time he received an answer. There was no desire for comfort, or shared bed.

This answer froze the very marrow in his bones.

He screamed. Whether battle cry or mobile terror he himself did not know. But still he made to strike at his enemy.

And the darkness swallowed him whole.

* * *

**Chapter 1**

Edward came awake with a jerk and a gasping breath. He floundered for a moment. Questions spiraled around his muggy brain, each clamoring for attention and answer. And then reality, cold and bitter as a winter storm swarmed thick through him.

She left him.

She didn't say goodbye.

She hadn't left anything of hers behind.

She took the children with her.

His children; this was what hurt the most. His children were a guilt which still pressed down on his chest like a leaden weight, even after the third day of mourning.

He'd sworn to them he would do it right. He was going to be a better father than his had been. He would be there while they grew up. And for a time he had. The same amount his own father had, in fact.

For five years he had loved his children, gloried in their victories, and guided them past their errors. He tried so hard to do this whole thing right.

But somehow, somewhere along the road, everything had changed: his job, his life, his marriage. Now he was left alone to wonder if this had all just been another mistake.

The couch was hard. He was tired of staring at the ceiling fan as it slowly revolved overhead. But he couldn't get off the couch anymore. So instead he shifted his arm to rest over his eyes. Ancient springs creaked and dug deeper into his spine. The sensation had stopped being painful several hours ago. His body was just catching up with his mind. All he felt was numb and guilt, always guilt.

He regretted so much. The guilt clung to him like a leech. That sensation was familiar at least. Regret and guilt were old friends; they were what he did best. The weight of the world was ever on his shoulders. If it wasn't Mom, it was Nina or, Heaven forbid, Al.

He wasn't angry, not yet anyway. That old comrade would visit later.

He had too much time to think. Whenever he thought about her leaving, there was too much temptation to hate. But he wouldn't…couldn't regret marrying Winry. He didn't regret loving her. Because he had, at one point, loved her.

He remembered was that was like, in the beginning. They had been happy once upon a time. But that time was distant; the memory of a dream, filmed over by arguments and misunderstandings and bitterness and eventually…apathy.

He didn't hate her for walking away. It wasn't her fault; it was his.

He'd made her cry again.

But his children…

He would never see them again. That's what the note said. Edward had enough faith left in Winry to believe it.

The single sheet of paper was clutched in his hands. The ink had smeared together through constant crumpling and smoothing over the last few days. The words were no longer legible, but the document she had laid underneath was clear enough without Winry's letter of angry explanation.

Divorce papers. She'd signed them and left.

For a long time he had just stood and stared down at them; lying innocently on the kitchen table. The implications had sunk in slowly. He'd searched the house for her that way: slowly. There was nothing to find and even though, somewhere in the lethargic haze of his mind he had known it, he looked anyway. She'd taken everything and left. And then, after the searching, he sat at the table, just staring at the papers, at his wife's signature.

That signature was the only evidence that she had ever existed.

He smiled bitterly at the irony.

He hadn't signed yet. He wasn't sure why.

He'd had plenty of time to think up crazy excuses over the last three days.

Maybe he was just waiting for the right time to let it all go. Maybe it was just because he had never been good with moving past painful events in his life. Maybe he couldn't because his marriage to Winry had been too big a portion of his life to simply write off as a poor choice.

He supposed that was as good an explanation as any. It made a sort of warped, stupid sense. Deep down inside, he hated the idea of pouring so many years into something and watching it crumble to ash in his fingers.

But that seemed to be something of a pattern in his life. No matter how much care was poured in, it wasn't enough. It hadn't been enough for his mother, or Nina or, in the end, Winry

**There; **he could feel the anger now. He wondered what had taken it so long.

Someone knocked on the door. The sharp contrast between it and the silence hurt Ed's ears. He didn't bother answering. He didn't want to see anyone. He was still working on getting off the couch.

"Brother," But of course, he hadn't considered it was Al. His younger brother would know he was here. And the man who had helped him stop 'Father' wouldn't let a door stand in his way.

He was being sat up. His muscles protested the sudden motion after so long stationary.

His brothers' help both pained and irked him. It reminded him of those awful months, when he had first lost his arm and leg, when he couldn't do anything for himself. Al had taken care of him then too. The only difference between now and then was now Al had real arms with which to coddle and baby him. It was times like these, when Ed was in shock that Al took over, cared and watched over him, almost like Al was the older sibling. Edward hated needing his brother to live. He wasn't weak. He just couldn't find it within himself to prove it.

"What do you want Al?" He brushed off his brother's hands, but stayed sitting.

"I came to check on you." The other man's voice was soft with concern. That compassion was something he had never understood in his brother: the ability to love everyone, to forgive everyone, especially those who didn't deserve it. Ed had only ever showed his quiet side, his tender underbelly, to his Mother, to Winry and Al. Now they were all gone. He was even trying to hide from his brother.

Al spoke, pausing often to pick his words. "Winry came over before…you got back and…We hadn't heard anything since…well, for a few days…May and I were getting worried." The cushion beside him shifted to bear his brother's weight.

Ed had nothing to say to his brother. He was still digesting that Winry had taken the time to say goodbye to his brother and sister-in-law, but not him: the man she'd consistently gotten naked with for five years, bar the last eight months.

Alphonse let the quiet linger long enough to start crowding in on them again.

Edward saw his brother turn to give him a hard look. He braced himself for the lecture he knew was coming. He remembered this, Al would let him fester for a time, let him think and stew, But once he believed Ed had had enough time he would start a fight, tell Ed that he was being stupid and he needed to just get over himself. Just like their first battle with Scar. Ed had yelled at him then, called him names, punched him and yelled some more. Because Edward had been stupid, he had needed to be punched and yelled at. Apparently he needed the same now.

"You can't do this to yourself every time something awful happens."

It was true. Al was good, always had been, at delivering cold, hard truth when you needed to hear it. But needing to hear something and wanting to hear it were two different things. Ed didn't want to hear this. The wounds were too fresh. Perhaps that too was part of the problem.

"Yeah, yeah, I get it, whatever."

Al frowned, but remained silent. At least Alphonse could figure out when his tactics weren't working. He didn't just scream at the problem, hoping that it would fix itself for sheer fear of her…**him**. Al was a 'him'…a 'him' who didn't scream or hit people with wrenches…

"Come on Ed," Al was trying a different tactic. "You have to get up and, and…move on." Ed could tell it hurt his brother to say it. Once again, Ed had caused his brother pain. The guilt for that would kick in soon. Why not pile more on while he was at it? Al was still speaking.

"Why don't you come over and stay at our house? May would love to see you and it'll help to be around people. How long have you been out here by yourself?" Al was studying him and his words were slow, deliberate. "We need to get you fed and cleaned up. It looks like you haven't shaved in weeks. Unless you want to look like father, I don't know if you should keep it." Al was trying. Ed knew he should care a little more, but all he heard was a steady, energized flow of babble; until his brother's next words.

"Let's go home so we can get you back to 100% as soon as possible. You owe it to yourself and to Winry-" Al seemed to realize his mistake, but Ed was already on his feet, shaking with anger he didn't know where to direct.

"Shut up."

Al turned to his brother in surprised, guilty horror; surprised at his brother's sudden movement, guilty and horrified at his own thoughtlessness.

Edward's back was to Alphonse; his eyes on the floor, his fists clenched tightly at his sides.

"Brother-" Al started.

"You shut up. Just shut your mouth. Never say that again." He wasn't mad at Al. Al was only trying to help. He didn't want to be angry, but it was bubbling up, a rolling boil in his blood.

"I don't owe her anything. She left me. Don't you get that? She took away my children: My son, my daughter, **your** nephew, your **niece**. Don't you dare tell me that I owe her more than…that…"

Ed clapped a hand across his mouth. He squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head, denying the tears that pooled at the corners of his eyes, threatening to fall.

His voice emerged, a whisper. "I've already paid the toll."

"Ed…I didn't mean…" Al's hands were on his shoulders, comforting. His brother didn't mean it like that, Al was trying to explain. But the pity in his brother's voice hurt Ed, more than the thought of never seeing his children's beautiful faces again.

It was the pity which made him push Al away. It was his stubborn pride that dried the tears and marched his body out the door. Pack away the anger, the guilt, the pain. Pack it away so he couldn't hurt anyone else with it. Pack it away so no one else could see how empty and vulnerable he had become. Pack it away. Pack it away.

The bag was already full. It stood next to the door from when he had come home three days ago. He'd never quite gotten around to unpacking it.

It wasn't heavy, inside was everything he needed to survive.

Survive.

That was the new goal. It was one he'd held before, when he fought an immortal army, when he'd gone up against the first Homunculus, when he went head to head with the Truth. Somehow 'Survive' had worked for him up until this point.

"Brother, where are you going?"

Al was standing in the doorway. Ed stopped and spared a single glance, a single wave over his shoulder.

"I don't know."

Al wanted to run after his brother. He wanted more than anything to go with Edward; to help him during this quest to find self-renewal. But they weren't teenagers anymore. Al had his own responsibilities here, a home, a wife, a family, a life. He couldn't just up and leave. But it was more than that.

He had a feeling, brotherly intuition or some bull crap like that. This was something Ed had to work out for himself.

Al hadn't loved Winry, at least not the way his older brother had. But he knew the pain of a suddenly severed connection. His Mother's death was an awful memory even after the years had passed and he would always weep for Nina. Ed was forced to bear that severance again when Winry left him. Three times bearing such heart-wrenching loss in a single lifetime... For as long as he could remember, his brother carried more pain than Alphonse could know.

_No_, he decided. This journey was Edward's alone to make.

In the end Al could only watch as his sibling's darkened silhouette disappeared into the distance and hope Ed would find the peace he was looking for.

* * *

It was raining.

Roy heard the constant 'pock' of droplets on the window even over the train's strident chugging. He stared out into the bleak night, at the objects streaking past. Looking but not seeing.

Grumman was dead.

He'd gotten the call that morning.

After seven years serving a war-stricken Amestris the man had died in his office; laid his head down to take a nap on his desk and never got around to lifting it back up again. His heart gave out the doctor said.

And now Roy Mustang was Fuehrer; rushing back to Central for the grandiose funeral they had arranged for tomorrow afternoon.

Riza sat, silent in the seat beside him. She was along for him. Grumman wasn't as much to her: mentor, superior, friend.

She was here for Roy. Seven years had not diminished that. It had broken no new ground, but it would never fade.

Theirs was a love true and platonic: unwavering, unconditional, and unconsummated.

Roy could have quoted a hundred and one regulations against officer/subordinate liaisons. He couldn't honestly say he cared about any of them.

That wasn't why he hadn't touched her.

Seven years ago Roy Mustang was concerned about two things: Avenging the death of Maes Hues and climbing as high up the chain of command as he could as fast as he was able. During the chaos of wars and those political games of life and death, so little ground he walked was solid enough to hold him. However there were, even during the chaos of seven years ago, universal constants; truths he never questioned. Truths like: Riza Hawkeye was his queen. That truth still remained even whilst he battled Homunculi; when he watched her bleeding out in front of him; when he went back to Ishval…even when he attained the kingship of Amestris at last. The trouble was…he didn't know what that meant anymore.

There had been a time when Roy thought Riza could be the one. Once upon a time he harbored secret fantasies of a life and a family and little 'flame alchemists' drawing transmutation circles on the living room floor. But that life and that future weren't his; weren't Riza's.

In the last days of 'Father, the first Homunculi', Roy had begun to see his straight-edged lieutenant as something more than a chess piece to be moved and protected for the success of his ambitious scheming. She was always something more than that. But in those final days she became so much a living breathing woman with concerns and cares and worries and desires and pains and fears. For the first time since the War in Ishval she had let him see inside her. And in turn, she saw him weak, at his most venerable. She had been his eyes, guiding him and keeping him on target despite his handicap.

Roy didn't know if he expected that transfer of secrets to magically transform their relationship. He had slept with women with less relationship. But nothing came of their newfound intimacy.

He could blame it on his new position. The first years liaising between Ishval and Amestris was mired in post war trauma and suspicion between the civilian population and the military. Roy had to fight tooth and nail; just to keep Ishval in one piece. He slept little, ate less.

When the murmurs of secession and dissent finally ebbed, Roy found that the spark between Riza and himself had once again been smothered by the comfortable confines of military regulation formality.

In a way, the question of 'them' was answered in their actions during that long year. Mustang had a job to do, would always have a job to do. Riza simply fell into step like a good soldier, easily filling the role she'd previously occupied, as his queen.

He understood the desire he had for her would always be in the back of his mind, always niggling for recognition and release. But both, by some unspoken agreement; knew that to indulge in the moment would only cheapen the respect they held for one another.

And now life had changed again.

Roy was now the Fuehrer.

Riza was still his aide.

There was nothing more to be gained from pipe dreams and 'what if's'.

And in the end he still didn't know what sort of queen Riza was.

"Sir." Riza urged gently. "We're almost to East Station."

"Thank you, Major." Roy managed. But his mind was still outside, trying to make sense of the world. Everything he had ever wanted was his, not just a dream, or at his fingertips, but his. It had been dropped into his lap, willed to him upon the late leader's death.

He didn't know where to start untangling the thread of his thoughts and plans.

The future of Amestris; foreign policy, economic policy, social reform, military reform, trade, integrating Ishval back into Amestris. As he stared out the window, the tangled ball just seemed to get bigger.

He was going to give himself an ulcer before he got to Central.

The train screeched to a halt along the plain wooden platform. A single row of incandescent light bulbs lit the sign 'East Station'.

Roy gathered his coat and hat, the only luggage he'd brought from Ishval.

Riza didn't ask if he was alright. She knew better. Instead she stood after him and followed out of the passenger car.

Roy went to the schedule board. They had an hour before the train to Central arrived.

Riza would tell him to try and sleep a little.

But he wouldn't, or couldn't.

He didn't know which.

It didn't matter really. He could decide on the way to Central. Maybe he'd finish that ulcer too.

* * *

_**AN: There it is. Prelude and first chapter. Just setting and basically catching everyone up on Roy and Ed really. Tell me honestly what you think. No, Ed is not dreaming what happened in the Prelude.**_

_**Have a good day.**_

_**Until next time...**_


	2. Chapter 2

**Thanks for the review!**

**Warnings: past mentions of EdWinry**

**All mistakes are mine.**

* * *

**Chapter2**

"_Oh, Ed, it's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen." She'd gushed, but then again, it was automail she was drooling over._

_The fitting had gone well for Ed's newest prosthetic leg. _

_Edward was glad he was finally growing a little more. Winry was happy she could still work with his automail. Even though he only had the leg left; it gave her something to do besides be a full-time mother._

"_Yeah," Ed agreed, springing from his seat and testing the new limb. "You did great, just like always." The leg felt great. It always did when Winry got her hands on it. She was a genius when it came to machinery._

"_Ahg!"_

_His son, the eldest of his two children, now about a year and a half, had sprung on him. The child shrieked with glee when his father picked him up, swinging him high into the air._

_Winry looked on and laughed at their antics. She rose from her stool, seven months pregnant and more than a little wobbly._

_She groaned and rubbed her swollen belly. "I thought it was supposed to get easier after the first one."_

_Ed grinned at her and slung his son over one shoulder. The child giggled and kicked playfully at his father's chest. Edward walked over to help his wife to the couch. Winry slapped hand away._

"_I can do it myself." The blond woman glared. "I'm not an invalid."_

"_I didn't say you were."_

"_You don't have to. You're treating me like one right now."_

"_Winry." Ed sighed. Even after two years of marriage he still didn't know how to deal with this woman's mood swings. And they just seemed to get worse during pregnancy, no matter what he did or didn't do. But still he tried. He couldn't __**not**__ try; this was Winry. "You just finished building me a new leg. I don't think you're any less capable than you were seven months ago before you were pregnant."_

_The blond woman huffed and tried to sit up. Edward reflexively reached out._

_Winry shot him a look. The look that said he'd screwed up._

"_Whatever you say Ed."_

The whistles sharp report had Ed's sleep bleared eyes blinking open.

"Central Station." The aide droned as he trailed down the aisle. "Now arriving at Central Station."

Ed didn't think about what he was doing until he was standing on the stairs, belongings in hand, staring down at the platform. Passengers stepped groggily around him, one bumping apologetically into his arm. He probably mumbled some sort of apology, but the man was already gone.

Edward didn't think anything of it. He was still staring at the gleaming concrete. For some reason, he didn't want to get off the train

Stepping onto the Central platform for the first time in five years was surreal.

Edward travelled much in the years after 'Father's' death, mostly to the West: Creta and up a little into Drachma. He passed through Central station a few times on the way back home to Resembol, but he never got off.

In the back of his mind there was always a half-hearted idea. He'd always thought about coming back to visit. But something always came up: Alchahestry research, his brother's wedding, a hole in the roof, having a baby, a new nephew. So the plan was always being shoved onto the back burner until it was forgotten entirely.

Lieutenant Hawkeye, Havoc, Fuery, Breda, Fallmen, Sheska, Armstrong, Mrs. Hues, Elisia, Mustang; they all seemed so far away, from another lifetime altogether.

A few people were wandering around the platform, looking just as lost as Ed felt; the effect of overnight transit.

Golden eyes strayed over the empty greeting area and he felt a pang in his chest.

"Maybe I should've called ahead." His smile held no humor, because calling ahead would mean he's planned this ahead of time.

Ed planned nothing like this.

Edward hefted the small suitcase at his side and began a slow trudge down Main Street in search of a hotel.

* * *

Two hours to Central." The attendant called, pacing the aisle. "Two hours to Central Station."

Roy yawned and stretched. He was pasted due for a walk around; his legs and posterior were begging for mercy.

Riza started from sleep when he got up and began to follow, but Roy waved her back down.

One of them might as well get some sleep.

After watching his Aide settle back under her blanket, Roy stared to wander. His feet sought no particular direction.

He found himself in the club car, watching as waiters dressed in white slid hot platters of aromatic food in front of hungry patrons.

Roy's stomach chose that moment to rumble loudly. He hadn't eaten since breakfast yesterday if he remembered correctly. He hadn't thought about food really since boarding the train to Central.

"Can I seat you General?" A waiter offered.

Roy allowed himself to be guided into a corner booth and was given a menu before his host was whisked away to tend to other customers.

The breakfast menu was immense, as was to be expected in a first class dining car. He ordered the sampler and a cup of coffee and spent the next half hour picking the pancakes to pieces.

"Are you feeling alright?"

Roy glanced up at the young, concerned face beside his table. The Lieutenant looked like he'd just finished his Academy graduation: completely green.

"Thank you for your concern Lieutenant…"

"Moret, Sir, Glen Morre."

They exchanged salutes and a firm handshake.

"I'm fine Lieutenant Morre."

"Oh." The young man stood awkwardly for long moments before he seemed to realize the conversation was over. "Well, I'll leave you to it sir. Have a…a good one."

He saluted again and shuffled away.

Roy was shaking his head after the boy when the attendant walked up.

"General Roy Mustang?"

"That's right." He pushed his plate away. He wasn't going to finish it anyway. "Can I help you?"

"There's a telegram for you."

The folded paper transferred hands and the man left Mustang alone to read.

_General Roy Mustang STOP. Holding the fort until you arrive STOP. Grumman's wishes didn't make everyone happy STOP. Will have a car waiting for you when at the station STOP. Try not to be late STOP._

_-General Olivier Armstrong STOP._

Roy couldn't help the smirk that tugged at his mouth. Olivier was likely in Central for Grumman's funeral, just like every military official above the rank of Captain.

He read the stinted prose a second time and the smirk became a smile. Even when she offered assistance with one hand, the other stole any respectful connotation from the note. She hadn't even given him the courtesy of using his new title: Fuehrer.

Riza joined him then. It seemed she could only leave him alone for so long.

"We have a little under an hour before we arrive."

Roy nodded and handed her the telegram before she could ask. The Major scanned the six sentences over several times before sliding it back to him.

"Well it's good to know you have some allies."

"It's a whole new game I'm playing," Roy agreed. "Best to know what pieces I have to move."

Riza didn't say anything for a moment.

"Hopefully you won't need them."

Roy wanted more than anything to believe he wouldn't. But one sentence in Olivier's message had him thinking. _Grumman's wishes didn't make everyone happy…_

* * *

Ed was well and truly lost.

He didn't remember the streets, it seemed, as well as he assumed.

They twisted and turned in new directions. Buildings sprouted where he thought only alleys and roads paved before.

Perhaps his memory was simply playing tricks on him. Five years was a long time after all.

The sky was tinged pink in pre-dawn and his feet continued to draw him down dead ends and dark back-allies Ed had never seen before.

He tried looking for a landmark; but the buildings crowded high above him blocking the skyline. Ed was most definitely lost.

It was another hour before Ed tried backtracking. This proved useless as looking for familiar landmarks. He couldn't remember the last time he had seen someone to ask for directions. The buildings all looked deserted.

Edward closed his eyes and tried to think through his steps. He had started from the station and took what he'd thought was a short cut by cutting through a side street to the West. From there he'd been funneled Southwest instead of straight West to the hotel. He would have to double back East to get back to Main Street.

He picked up his suitcase and started back. Ed felt a little ridiculous it had taken him so long to figure out the new back alley setup in Central. He blamed it on lack of sleep.

But at least he wouldn't be wandering around Central's slums for the rest of his life.

Ed thought he heard a groaning creak. The sound was so soft though, and the silence after it so absolute he wondered if he had imagined it.

He realized he was walking faster and had to laugh. He was acting like a child. Or maybe he'd just gotten antsy in his old age.

It wasn't so long ago he'd been chasing Homunculi down these streets without a second thought. He thought about Ling and Lan Fan. Capturing Glutony had been quite the escapade. They had learned so much about the Homunculi in the weeks to come, about what Gluttony was on the inside. Ed hadn't known that kidnapping the obese pseudo-human was opening a giant can of worms. But he wasn't afraid that he could think of, only when Winry pointed that pistol at Scar.

"Winry..." Ed's whisper was hollow.

A pebble rattled behind him.

Ed glanced back. Nothing: predictably. But then what had disturbed the stone?

He looked back to the path before him. Had the street always been so narrow? Was he imagining the way the buildings were leaning forward: hungry? They gleamed in half-shadow as black clouds amassed overhead.

A hiss, a breath of expelled air, like something was slicing through the atmosphere. It sounded so familiar. It sounded like…

Ed was running. He wasn't laughing at himself.

Something clattered behind him, but he didn't look. All his adrenaline laced limbs could do was pound the pavement towards safety.

It was too far. He knew. Too far to the station, but he couldn't stop.

His heartbeat thudded in his ears, pulsing, drumming a counterpoint to the rapid clip of his boots hitting pavement.

He could feel it behind him, but he couldn't look back. He didn't trust himself to keep going if he saw it.

It was too far. He wasn't going to make it.

Ed thought he felt hot breath sting the back of his neck and then he was sprinting around a corner. The sights and sounds of traffic washed over him. Had he always been this close to Main Street?

Ed spun.

The alley's mouth yawned, dark and foreboding…and empty.

Slowly the adrenaline drained from his brain and Ed began to shake. His laughter was downed in the bustle of city life.

Edward braced himself against a building and tried to breathe normally while his lungs seized.

"You're such an idiot." He said between gasps. "Get your head out of the past. They've been gone for seven years. You killed them all. You've gotten them all."

At last Ed's body stopped shaking enough for him to walk. Once again he set out in search of a hotel.

He asked for directions this time.

* * *

Roy stepped off the train and stretched. His muscles promptly flipped him the bird and began cramping. Two days straight on a train (excepting the hour break he was forced to endure while switching trains) was not the way to keep ones' body loose and relaxed.

But he was here at last. And unfortunately for his grousing limbs, Roy wasn't going to have much time to relax in the near future.

Early morning was cool in Central. Clouds overhead threatened rain while a wind from the North made leaving home minus a covering impractical.

It was good weather for a funeral; Roy mused silently.

Someone bumped Roy from behind. He heard a murmured apology already moving away. Out of habit he glanced at the transgressor and glimpsed only the back of a threadbare coat before the man was lost in the milling crowd.

"General Mustang."

A uniformed officer caught his attention. Roy steered Riza and himself over to the blue-black vehicle idling nearby.

"Captain." They exchanged salutes.

"Sir." The man barked out. "I have orders to see you and a Major Hawkeye to Central Command right away."

"Thank you, Captain." Roy slid into the back seat, Riza coming in close behind.

"No baggage."

"Understood Sir."

The car slipped easily into the directional flow of traffic.

Roy was staring out the window, a new passion, when he thought he saw the glimmer of golden hair. _Fullmetal_? His mind questioned. _In Central?_

His eyes focused to track the bright yellow, but their car was already far beyond it.

Whatever it was, Roy mused silently; it probably wasn't Elric. The man hadn't been to Central in years.

He shook off nostalgia. He had more pressing concerns than a prodigal State Alchemist.

Former State Alchemist, he corrected himself. After he brought his brother back from the portal of 'Truth'…

Roy stopped and frowned; because somehow he was still thinking about the bothersome blond boy.

Man…he would be a man now; probably around 24 or 25…

Roy sighed and shook his head.

Bothersome blond was right.

Riza was giving him a concerned look, but that expression had been on her face since East station, so he was used to it.

Roy just kept staring out the window while their car sped through the traffic towards Central Command.

* * *

**A/N: Please, let me know what you think. I thrive off feedback.**

**Until next time...**


	3. Chapter 3

**Thanks for all the reviews!**

**Warning: Mentions of EdWinry**

**Mistakes are my own.**

* * *

**Chapter 3**

The funeral was a somber affair.

As Roy predicted, even the weather chose to mourn that day, casting down a cascade of bitter tears to tribute Grumman. Grey was the predominate color above and it looked as though it would remain so for the near future.

He stood in the middle of a multitude, staring at the dais, at the speaker. He wasn't sure who this was, someone important. The service was packed with enough politicians and false grief to kill even Alphonse Elric's exuberant enthusiasm.

Roy's cold black eyes traced from the speaker, he wasn't listening anyway, to the casket placed just below the dais. They moved over the familiar profile, the glasses, the mustache, that awful beak of a nose.

Grumman lay, grey amidst the white satin and stained oak. He looked like a corpse, not the vivid leader of Amestris; that was right. But it felt so wrong. This wasn't the man Roy had left to go East. The body in the coffin commanded no respect; held no dignity. It looked shrunken and empty and pathetic.

What was left of Grumman wasn't even smiling.

The man's picture was smiling though; the great gaudy gilded thing they mounted in his honor. As though they thought everyone would've forgotten what their leader looked like in the 48 hours since his death. Maybe Amestris had, the mob was fickle after all, even in Central. Or maybe he should say: **especially** in Central.

Today they wept over Grumman's cold corpse, tomorrow would they cheer when Roy was announced as the new Fuehrer?

Roy could hear Fuery behind him, sniffling, but the man was not in tears, not yet. Fallmen was trying to hold it together too. Breda was eerily quiet, so was Riza. But her silence didn't disturb Mustang. He was used to quiet from her, especially at funerals. She hadn't even cried when her own father was laid to rest.

The curator gave a signal and Roy sighed. It was his turn to join the prattling politicians.

Roy slipped his hand to the pocket where he tucked his speech the day before. The soft outline pressed back into his probing fingers. He was prepared.

And then he was moving, striding to the podium with all the calm and poise he did not feel.

All eyes on him, he could sense them trained in his direction, clawing at his coat and hair. He wasn't used to that, wasn't sure he would ever become used to such attention.

Roy nodded to the curator, a slender, middle-aged man with mossy-brown hair, before turning to face the colorful crowd. The people gathered, their numbers stretching out as far as the eye could see. Crisp blue of military uniforms mixed with civilian red, green, yellow…black. Old flowery hats, ugly print dresses, lace, jeans, freshly shined boots, leather gloves, coats.

For long moments he just stood and looked at them as the full, honest reality, at last sunk in.

Grumman was dead.

Two days on a train wasn't enough time. But it couldn't be helped. Three days wouldn't have been enough; not four days; not five. In the end Roy knew he had to be here; had to see his friend lying ugly and wretched on the satin cushions.

Grumman was dead.

Roy never knew that he said; what words his grief addled brains chose for his mouth. He was aware of the sobbing, the polite clapping as he stepped down from the podium. But it was all distant, happening from another world, to someone else entirely.

Roy just went back to his place, standing beside Riza.

She offered no word or gesture of encouragement. But she was there. It was enough.

A cousin of Grumman's came up to speak next. His age gnarled voice mingled absurdly with the coughing and shuddering sobs as he droned on about a great man to be laid to rest.

Roy tried not to look at the casket. His eyes found purchase of the frame's muted gold.

The crowd wept.

And Grumman's gaudy portrait grinned back.

* * *

Ed was staring up at the ceiling fan…again.

At least it wasn't the one at home.

He was lying on the couch in his old room: Room 502. Well, it may as well have been his room; he and Al spent enough time in it whenever they came to Central. Here and the hospital.

He remembered spending an inordinate amount of time staring at this stupid fan, trying to figure out one mystery or another. He liked looking at it.

It was familiar.

Al might not approve his ceiling fan fetish, Ed thought sardonically, but at least he'd gotten out of his house.

The tri-blades still spun lazily around.

"_Papa, Papa, Papa."_

_His son bounded up to the table where Ed sat, talking to Winry while she finished cleaning up dinner dishes._

"_What is it Big Man?" Ed pulled his son into his lap for a tickle. The blond two year old squealed in horrified delight as his Father abused his ribs._

"_Stoppit Papa, stoppit. Wanna show sumfin."_

_Ed stopped and perched his son on the chair next to him. "Okay Big man; what do you want to show me?"_

_Winry wasn't watching. She was too immersed in dinner dishes._

_Eagerly the boy pulled out a piece of chalk and began scribbling on the polished wood._

_Edward reached out and was about to reprimand his son for drawing on furniture when the boy released the chalk, grinned at his Father and pressed his small palms onto the tabletop._

_White-blue light flashed and danced for long seconds then melted away; leaving a crudely transmuted wooden bird in its wake._

_Ed gaped in utter astonishment before he leaped up, grabbing his child and tossing him high. The boy began giggling; the joy so incredibly pure it was contagious. Soon they were both laughing uncontrollably, Father and son. Everything was right in the world. "Big man, you did Alchemy." The eldest Elric brother laughed, beginning his tickle-torture anew. "I'm so proud of you."_

"_Not mad?" The boy squirmed, trying to escape the offending digits._

"_Mad?" Ed pulled the child in close for a hug. His son was a prodigy, only two years old. Ed had been five before his first transmutation. Edward was astonished. "No, I'm not mad. I'm happy. You were amazing."_

_The boy grinned, a smile so like his own, awe filled him with each glimpse. "Wanna do more Papa."_

_A matching grin was threatening to overtake Ed's face. His son wanted to be taught, wanted to learn the science which had been Ed's passion for the first part of his life. "Yes, yes, of course you can learn Alchemy. I'll teach you everything you want to know. We can start tomorrow-"_

_A dish shattered._

_Ed turned and saw Winry, her hands empty, her face wide and horrified._

"_Absolutely not."_

"_Papa?" His son glanced from one parent to the other._

"_Absolutely not, Ed."_

_Edward set his son down, placing a kiss on the soft forehead while tears gathered in innocent golden eyes._

"_It's okay, Big man. Mommy and I are just going to have a talk. Go find your sister. Make sure she's still napping."_

"_Okay Papa." The blond boy wandered away, pausing at the door to snuffle. "Sorry Momma." And then he was gone._

_Ed turned to his wife._

"_Winry."_

_The woman was furiously gathering the glass fragments from the floor. "Don't start with me Ed. I'm not going to have Alchemy in my home and that's the end of it."_

"_Why not? I was an Alchemist."_

"_But you're not performing it."_

_Ed frowned. "What difference does that make?"_

_Winry shoved her handful of broken plate into the trash. "Because as long as they don't have it, it can't hurt them."_

_Ed's mouth opened and closed and opened again. Maybe he hadn't gotten enough sleep the night before, but he couldn't decipher Winry's fantastic leap in logic. No matter how he looked at that statement, it didn't make any sense at all. Of course their child could be hurt by Alchemy; he could be hurt by anything. A building could collapse on top of you just as easily with a brick in your hand as without._

_His jaw continued to work for long seconds. He couldn't think of anything to say._

"_What are you talking about?" he managed at last. Of course, it was the wrong thing to say. Winry went from cool to boiling in the time it took to inhale. She turned on him._

"_Edward Elric, how can you stand there and encourage my son to practice the very thing that took away your arm and leg? How can you want him to use it when it turned Al into a suit of armor? When it took away my parents? When it almost destroyed Amestris? I saw what it did to you and Alphonse. I was there the night you tried to bring your mother back. I saw exactly what it did to you. It was awful. And you want to teach my child how to do that?"_

_Ed was stunned. Of course he wasn't going to teach the boy human transmutation. That went without saying; at least he thought it did. But Alchemy wasn't evil and he'd __**thought**__ his wife understood that too._

_Ed shook his head. "Al and I understood the consequences were ours, because we made a mistake. __**We**__ made the mistake. Alchemy didn't force us to try and bring Mom back._

"_You can't blame Alchemy for causing destruction anymore than you can blame a shovel for being used to dig. Alchemy is a tool; it can heal just as well as harm. You know that."_

_But Winry had stopped listening. She furiously dried the remaining dishes._

_Ed stepped beside her, took the plate from her fingers. His voice was soft as he spoke._

"_Our son has a gift. Why shouldn't I encourage him to explore that talent if he wants to? Would I be a good Father if I stunted him, blocked him from doing what he wants?"_

"_He's two years old."Winry shouted._

"_Yes." Edward gestured to the ruined kitchen table. "And that two-year old just performed a transmutation I couldn't until I was five. Our son is a genius."_

_Winry ignored the furnishing. "That still doesn't make it safe. I don't want my child anywhere near it."_

_He would have backed off, was used to just giving in and admitting she was right. His life was typically easier that way. But he couldn't, not this time._

"_He's my son too." Ed said, storing the dish in its cabinet. "He's the son of an Alchemist, the nephew of an Alchemist and the grandson of a Philosopher's stone. You can't just say no, stamp your feet and expect this to go away. Alchemy is in his blood."_

_Winry was gritting her teeth. "He has Rockbell blood too, or don't you remember I was there while he was conceived?"_

"_Of course I-" Ed cut himself off. This argument was becoming ridiculous._

"_So he can do other things, be other things besides an Alchemist." His wife finished drying and she turned on him. "He has his whole life ahead of him. Let him be a child. Let him be interested in bugs or dirt, or wrestling or engines."_

_Edward's sudden smile held no humor._

"_I get it. So if he'd come in and showed us a piston he made himself; you would have forbid him from becoming an Automail engineer?" He didn't let Winry answer. "No, of course you wouldn't. Because following in your footsteps, that's a nice, __**safe**__ dream for him to have, isn't it?"_

"_Why am I the bad guy?" Winry was yelling again. "Why can't I try and do what's best for this family without being the mean parent? Tell me that Ed. Tell me why I shouldn't care that my son is safe?"_

"_I never said you couldn't. And he's my son t-" But she didn't let him finish._

"_I'm not going to let Alchemy tear this family apart again. I almost lost everyone because of that stupid science. I'm not going to just stand by and watch as my child is infected-"_

"_It's not a disease!" Edward shouted._

"_It's dangerous!" She spat back._

"_So what about Alchahestry then?" Ed asked. "Isn't that too dangerous for me to study? Why did you even let it into the house if you're so against the science? Won't that __**infect**__ him too?"_

"_That's…" Winry took a deep breath. "…different."_

_They were back around to square one it seemed, but it was a foothold. Ed grabbed on and held tight. "Alright. Then could he study that?" Ed was trying hard to keep the anger out of his voice. "Would that be acceptable?"_

_His wife glanced at the table then. When she spoke, it was softly. "I'll have to think about it Ed."_

_Edward opened his mouth._

_Their daughter started crying._

"_He woke up Trisha." Winry took a step toward the sound of interrupted nap. But Ed was already walking out of the kitchen._

"_It's okay Winry, I've got it."_

"_Ed."_

_He paused at the door. He felt her arms wind around his chest from behind as she hugged him._

"_I love you."_

_Not 'I'm sorry'. Not 'Let's try and work this out.' Not 'I know he's your son too'. Just: 'I love you'._

"_I love you too."_

Edward sat up.

He needed a walk; just a small walk, just to clear his head.

He slammed the door.

Just a little walk.

* * *

Roy was staring at the doors, thinking about the mound of dirt where Grumman disappeared. He had watched while the elderly man was laid to rest. And so now, all that Roy Mustang cared for Grumman must be put to rest as well. Roy had a county to run.

Gone were the days of cost-free cares. He could not carry the burden of Grumman's death and a country's troubles. It was too much for one man.

Riza stepped calmly to his side. "Sir, they're ready for you."

"Alright." Roy tucked his hat back on. A little rainwater, leftover from the storm, was gathered on the brim. It trickled slowly down his cheek. It was not a tear.

It was not a tear.

"Let's get this business over with."

Riza opened the doors and the warm glow from a dozen fluorescent bulbs bathed Roy's face. He blinked and stepped into the wide ante-chamber.

Riza slipped in behind him and closed the door.. Roy expected her to stay at his back, like she always did. But when he turned to look, Riza had disappeared in the ranks of Generals and he could no longer see her.

Red carpet made a path to the front where waited the man with the book. Roy strode down the long crimson, searching the faces on either side of the aisle. Many he recognized, old friends from the revolution, older ones from Eastern Command and the Ishvalan War. Even comrades from Briggs had come to witness his ascension to Fuehrer.

He was kneeling, baring and bowing his head to the man with the book. A hand, the barest touch of fingertips splayed against his hair. And then the man with the book spoke, his large voice echoed in Roy's ears, out to the military senior staff assembled.

"Do you so swear that you shall uphold the laws and regulations which so bind this great land Amestris? Will you, with your knowledge guide; with all your strength protect and with your wisdom rule over every soul entrusted to your care? Until such a time as sickness overcomes you, death takes you or until you deliver this great charge to Amestris' newest caretaker; be they found worthy of so noble a calling?"

Roy knelt; his back to the four hundred gathered. Colonel's and General's, friends and allies. His people.

All eyes on him again.

His people.

"I so swear."

**His** people.

The fingertips disappeared.

"Before thyself and before these witnesses it is so sworn. Rise, Fuehrer Roy Mustang."

Roy was a paradox; light and heavy, he was soaring and plummeting to earth all at once. Somehow he was rising, turning to look at the crowd. They stared back and clapped. Polite applause. It was the best he could expect for the audience. Many would be disappointed they had not been chosen to succeed Grumman. His eyes sought those of Olivier Armstrong. She was already watching him carefully.

_'Grumman's wishes didn't make everyone happy…'_

He hadn't made many friends here today.

Roy saluted.

His Generals saluted back.

That moment was perfection.

He walked down to the doors, a newfound confidence measuring every step.

The doors opened wide, the hall beyond beckoning and as Roy strode to it, looking to either side, he saw his comrades falling into place behind and beside him.

Fuery, Fallman, Breda, Havoc, Hawkeye.

It was everything he could have hoped for; his moment of triumph.

Roy Mustang was Fuehrer at last.

He smiled.

"Pack your bags and prepare to transfer to my personal staff." Roy smiled. "We have a job to do."

* * *

**AN: He's finally attained his dream. Go Roy!**

**Anyway, here's my usual call for Reviews. Please, it's what keeps me going.**

**Until next time.**


	4. Chapter 4

Thanks for all the reviews!

Warnings: Mentions of EdWinry,

All mistakes are my own.

I am updating a few details and getting back on this story horse. Thanks for waiting.

XX

Chapter 4

The glass was cool and smooth beneath his fingers, sleek and perfect. Carefully, he traced the rim's nearly translucent curve. The cup was a true work of art, spun glass a million shades of blue and green swirled together.

"Can I help you, sir?"

Edward glanced up at the vender, a slender, middle-aged man with mossy-brown hair. He shook his head.

"Thanks, just looking."

He pulled his hand back as his gaze flickered over the rest of the man's stock. But he was pulled back to the cup. The design was simple, delicate, but when his fingers touched over its frame again, he felt strength in it.

"Yes, that's one of my favorites too." The man stepped over to Ed so he could inspect the piece. "It's a real work of art."

"That's exactly what I was thinking." Ed admitted with a weak smile. "It's beautiful." It wasn't often he used adjectives like 'pretty' or 'beautiful', but in this case the adjective fit.

"And it's a real bargain too." The man continued. "A mere 4,000 cenz."

Ed almost choked at the price. He shook his head. "Sorry, I wish I could, but there's really no safe place where I can keep it."

"Ah," The man nodded sagely. "A man well travelled?"

"You could say that." Ed agreed, trying to figure out how to untangle himself from the over-zealous salesman.

Just as Ed was about to mention something about lunch and food the man began staring at Edward. His gaze travelled first to the ripe golden hair Ed had confined to a tail, their gazes locked for a long second and then the man's eyes went wide.

"Pardon me…" He said. "…but are you by any chance, the Fullmetal Alchemist: Edward Elric?"

Ed blinked in utter astonishment. Reflexively, he took a step back, his hands up, as if warding off an attacker. "No, I don't go by that anymore. I haven't been a State Alchemist in years."

"But you are Edward Elric?" The man persisted, an adoring smile spreading across his bland features. "You're the Alchemist who helped save Amestris from the Homunculi?"

"Not so loud." Edward shushed, but it was little use. A small crowd was already gathering, looking intently at him and whispering. It wasn't as though he was trying to hide, but after five years out of the public eye, he wasn't used to this sort of attention anymore. Once he'd show-boated his way from one corner of this city to the other. Now, he wanted nothing more than to sneak off to a corner until everyone went away.

"It's such a…an honor. Edward Elric, at my shop." The vender looked as though he were about to pass out.

"I've got to go." Ed tried to turn, but the mass of people had doubled and was pressing in.

'Edward Elric…'

'Didn't he have an older brother?'

"Isn't he handsome? And so tall.'

'I heard that he went to the country to get married.'

'Well he has the ring on his finger. Look there it is.'

'So he is married.'

'I wonder who she is.'

"Let me out!" Ed started elbowing his way through, but a hand grabbed his coat. It was the mossy-haired vender.

"Please." He offered the glass. "Take it. It's the least I can offer for the salvation of Amestris."

"I…" Ed started to protest, but the crowd was threatening to cut off his escape route entirely. "Thanks." He grabbed the glass and bulled his way through a hundred curious pedestrians.

It was three blocks before Ed felt safe enough to slow his pace down to a walk.

"I hate crowds." He muttered and glanced down at the cup in his hand. It was pretty, maybe even worth 4,000 cenz. But the vender had just handed it to him and with such a look of worshipful gratitude.

"For saving Amestris? Please." Ed wasn't sure whether he was mad or grateful. The man didn't know him, but still remembered him, five years after the war with Father and the Homunculi. Although, Ed thought it was a little odd that a street vender had picked him almost literally out of a crowd.

It was the eyes. No one else in Amestris had his eyes, well…besides Al.

…And his son.

"Edward is that you?"

Gracia Hughes' smile was as open and motherly as he remembered. Ed turned to say 'hello' and caught an armful of giggling little girl.

Whilst he spluttered and spat ticklish brown pigtail from his mouth, he couldn't help chuckling.

"Edward." She eased Elicia's arms from around his neck, still smiling. "Elicia, you're going to smother him."

"No I'm not." The girl pouted as soon as her feet hit the ground. She looked up at Edward and stuck her lip out as far as it could go, which was an impressive amount if Ed did say so himself.

"I wasn't smothering you, was I?"

Edward felt his lips twisting upwards while he tucked the, mercifully unbroken glass into his coat pocket.

"Not really." He consoled the petulant child…Lord, she had to be ten now. "But you're mom's right. Leaping on other people is a good way to get someone hurt."

Elicia frowned, but didn't argue and Gracia's tickling voice washed over them both.

"Oh, Ed, it's so good to see you again. We haven't heard from you since…" She trailed off, but Ed knew what she was going to say.

"Yeah," He agreed. "…since the war. It's been a while."

They stood in amicable silence for long moments, neither trusting themselves to speak. Every word that came to Ed's mind in that moment seemed insufficient. What they had gone through, even if she hadn't played a role in Father's ultimate defeat, transcended speech itself.

"Mommy I'm hungry."

It was Ed's turn to laugh. He reached down gently to rub Elicia's pigtails.

"I'm sorry. I'm keeping you guys from lunch."

Gracia shook her head. "Not at all. In fact, why don't you join us? It's been too long since you've been over to eat my quiche."

"I couldn't." Ed protested. "I wouldn't want to impose."

"You wouldn't be." Gracia soothed.

"Please." Elicia beamed up at him. "Please come over."

"Well how can I say no to that?" Ed returned the gesture and offered the two ladies his arms. "Alright, Mrs. Hughes, Elicia, lead the way."

XX

The crowd dispersed once the Fullmetal Alchemist disappeared, all whispering and gossiping while they went on their way. He was alone for the moment. That was good.

The slender man with mossy-brown hair leaned over to peer under his borrowed cart. Dead eyes stared back up at him.

It was the work of a moment to reposition the dead form on the street, blank eyes gazing into the clouds, hand clutching at his chest in a thin parody of a heart attack. And then the man with mossy hair was gone, leaving nothing but a wane chuckle and a corpse in his wake.

XX

The office was surprisingly empty. Roy glanced around at the room which had been Grumman's work space not 48 hours before and felt a little lonely.

It was smaller than he imagined, more Spartan, open and elegant.

The desk was, of course, the prominent feature, placed before the great green banner of Amestris. The polished wood underfoot gleamed under soft electric lights. Little illumination came through the large windows to the right and left of the desk. It was still cloudy outside.

He spotted the small table perched in one corner and smirked. Atop the smooth oak lay the thrice accursed chess set Grumman tormented him with whilst Roy was under his command.

Roy stepped over to inspect it, a fond smile curling his lips as he reached out for the white king. "Sentimental old fool."

The doors burst open and General Olivier Armstrong strode balefully into the room.

The General had remained much the same in the five years since Roy saw her. Long blond hair, blue eyes. The General was sporting a few scars on face and hands, souvenirs from the battle with undead legions and the Homunculus Sloth. They suited though, weaving a sinister tale of hard-won victory across her pale flesh.

"General." Roy put his hand out, choosing not to address her uninvited entrance. It was his first day. Besides, handing out reprimands was Hawkeye's job. Olivier grasped the proffered hand firmly and promptly released it. Her cold manners were telling; Roy mused. They had never been friends; rebellion brought them together as convenient allies. It was all they had in common besides mutual dislike. It seemed even his elevation to ruler of Amestris wouldn't change that. "What can I do for you?"

"I came to offer my congratulations." Olivier said, crossing her arms over her chest. "And my condolences."

"How thoughtful." Roy leaned back against his desk. "I assume you have my gift picked out already."

Olivier snorted. "You can consider what I'm about to tell you your present as it's going to save your reputation and quite a bit of headache."

"Oh really?" Roy's smile wasn't entirely faked. He leaned back against his desk.

Olivier smirked. "Grumman was an ambitious old man, brilliant, but he might have bitten off more than either of you can chew." She paused.

Roy arched an eyebrow. "Alright General." He said. "You have my attention. Please."

Olivier turned her chin up importantly. "During his last trip to Briggs, Grumman confided in me. I suppose he thought he could trust me. Fortunately for you, he was right." Olivier had the grace to look smug before she went on. "He was planning a Peace Summit here in Amestris. He spent last few months of his life running from one Command Center to the next, trying to convince the other countries to attend."

"A peace summit." Roy repeated. "Do you know if any of them decided to come?"

"The last I heard, Drachma was." Olivier's smile had turned nasty. "Since my Briggs men utterly destroyed them the last time we met on the field of battle, I suspect they've begun to think of their own mortality. I haven't heard anything about the other nations."

"When was this peace summit supposed to be held?"

"Soon." The General said. "That's all I know. Grumman wasn't forthcoming and I didn't care to ask."

Roy frowned, but nodded. "Thanks General. You've been very helpful."

Olivier snorted disdainfully. "Don't think I did it for you. I fought and killed Homunculi and immortal legions to keep this country strong. I'll be damned if I let it fall to politics now."

She turned, her long hair whipping around like a banner. And as she shut the door behind her she tossed casually over one shoulder. "So just make sure it doesn't fall, Fuehrer Roy Mustang."

Roy's chuckle was drowned by the door's loud 'thud'.

"As best I can, General."

The phone beside him chimed. Roy frowned and picked up the receiver. "Yes, what is it?"

"Sir." The young woman on the other end said. "There was a call from Northern Command, they tried to send word, but their phone lines were buried in snow and they just got them cleared. We got the call a few minutes ago."

"What call?"

"They said the Ambassador from Drachma was arriving at Central Station at 1500 hours."

Roy glanced at the clock and slammed down the phone. He had ten minutes to get to Central Station, assuming the train was just on time. He hoped it wasn't early.

Roy rushed out the door.

"Major Hawkeye."

"Sir." She was beside him, matching his quick steps. She was supposed to be transferring her belongings to her new post, but Roy was grateful she'd stuck around.

"I need a car to Central Station now. I'll explain on the way."

"Yes Sir."

XX

"That was delicious, Mrs. Hughes." Ed sat back and rubbed his belly. He hadn't eaten so well since the last time he and Al stayed at the Hughes' home.

"Thank you Edward." The woman smiled at the compliment and began clearing away lunch dishes. Ed stood to help. Her smile widened while she watched him stacking plates and silverware.

"What a gentleman, Winry's doing a good job training you."

Edward jerked in surprise. The plate slipped through his nerveless fingers.

_He cleaned the last crumbs from his plate and sighed lustily. Beside him, Al was finishing off his own slice of pie and making sounds of appreciation._

"_Quiche and apple pie, Winry you have outdone yourself."_

_His wife of three months blushed and disappeared into the kitchen, mumbling something Ed didn't understand about flattery getting him everything._

"_So, Al." Ed nudged his brother's shoulder. "What do you think? Winry's cooking has gotten a ton better since you were over last."_

"_Don't be rude." Al nudged back, remembering the charred pot roast and mushy vegetables. "She hasn't had a lot of experience making meals for a lot of people all the time. Granny usually did all the cooking when we were over, if you remember."_

"_I wasn't being rude." Ed laughed. "And it's true. You almost didn't come over because she was cooking. Admit it."_

"_But she's improved." was Al's incredible retort._

"_Yeah." The eldest Elric agreed. "I'm just glad she figured things out before we died from food poisoning."_

"_Edward Elric." Winry shouted from the kitchen. "That's a hurtful thing to say. See if I ever make you any apple pies again."_

_Edward grimaced. He hadn't thought she could hear them from the other room. He made a mental note and shouted an apology._

_Winry yelled back. "What am I going to do with you, Ed?"_

_Edward smiled and nudged his brothers' arm._

_He was forgiven._

"Edward?"

He was staring at the plate on the floor. It was shattered. In a million tiny pieces and he couldn't fix it. He couldn't mend it anymore. The plate or his marriage.

Ed glanced up at Gracia's concerned face. She had said something funny; it was supposed to be funny. But he hadn't laughed. He'd…

Ed let out a weak chuckle, but it was too late and the sound echoed mockingly back to him. Gracia's frown deepened. She reached out and touched his shoulder. Ed couldn't meet her eyes.

"Sorry." He mumbled, kneeling down and grabbing the larger pieces. Her hand fell away from his shoulder. "I'll get this swept up in no time. Just tell me where the broom is."

Gracia Hughes was silent for a long time. When she finally spoke, her voice was small and gentle. "Elicia, could you go and get the broom for Edward, please?"

Elicia's scampering feet disappeared down the hall with a 'yes mommy' and they were alone. Gracia knelt down beside Ed and slowly began picking up glass, working in mutual silence.

Edward glanced at Gracia's concerned face and back down to the shattered plate. She knew. She could see the brokenness of a divided soul. After all, her own had been severed in two years ago.

Ed looked up at her again. Her empathetic green eyes met his tortured gold.

"It's going to be alright Edward." She smiled. "It's only a little mess. It's easy to think that's the world is going to end. But once we get this cleaned up and cleared away, we'll hardly remember it happened. Just be careful and try not to hurt yourself while you're picking up the pieces."

Edward stared at Mrs. Gracia Hughes. He felt the cool glass kiss the skin of his palms and wondered if she was talking about the plate.

Elicia came back then, broom in hand and Gracia's words moved temporarily to the back of Edwards mind.

He spent a few more hours at the Hughes', inspecting photographs taken of Elicia with grandparents, at birthday parties and school. He watched the two Hughes women as they giggled over one inside joke or another and felt his heart squeeze painfully. The Gracia from five years ago was gone. She wasn't broken. She hadn't let her husband's death shatter her. She'd cleaned up the plate and moved on.

It hurt Ed a little, to think about his life like this. They made it sound like his pain was nothing, it would pass and the world would go on as though nothing had ever happened. But that was the truth. A truth he was maybe a little more ready to hear.

His pain, in the grand scheme of universe and God, really was trivial. It would pass and eventually, his world would go on turning. Not today, maybe not tomorrow either, or the day after that. But it would and Ed had to keep living for that day. Because he couldn't live a life of shattered glass.

As Edward bid the Hughes' goodbye he was smiling again. It was his first real smile in a long time.

That was when the world exploded.

XX

Roy's feet pounded the pavement. He could hear them following. Good, then the ambassador was safe. His own future, however, was less secure.

The sun was dipping down below the skyline, painting the world in deeper hues.

The man sent from Drachma had arrived safely and thankfully, a little late. Roy was still pinning the last of his medal onto his freshly pressed dress uniform when the train pulled into the station. After a brief introduction, Roy found himself explaining why it was he and not Grumman here to receive the Drachman Ambassador.

The man's response astonished Roy. He was not only incredibly apologetic when he learned of Grumman's sudden death but he even went so far as to express a desire to visit the gentleman's grave should the opportunity arise. The man was surprisingly gracious when he learned few preparations had been made for his lodging, but nodded gravely and said any hotel room would be paradise compared to the train. And during the ride back to Central he regaled Roy and Riza with stories from his native land, entertaining

And then the carpet had been yanked out from under him.

He'd looked out the window and frowned. Derelict warehouses lined the empty streets. Roy felt his blood run cold.

"Where are we?" He barked at the driver.

"Just a short-cut, Fuerher." The man responded.

"Turn around." Roy barked, but it was already too late. He heard the report, felt the impact. The sound and scent of shredded tire rubber filled his nostrils and their car overturned. Riza went for the driver, but the man stuck a pistol into his mouth and pulled the trigger, spraying them with red and white.

Roy wiped splatter from his eyes in time to see seven men converging on the shattered vehicle. A painful hail of bullets was sent ricocheting around the steel trap. The Ambassador was struck in the shoulder and side. One bullet tore a hole in Roy's new dress uniform, Bastards.

It was all Riza and Roy could do to keep them back from the car. Roy couldn't get his hands or head out long enough for a concentrated blast of fire. He was lucky if he could toast one before spraying gunfire forced him back under cover.

"They're going to kill us." The man from Drachma clutched his side.

"No they're not." Roy ducked as another volley pinged off the car's dented door. "I won't let them." He looked Riza in the eye.

She nodded, already covering the Ambassador's body with her own. She tossed a grenade. He smothered it in flame.

Light and heat exploded around them as fiery tongues engulfed the street. And then they were on the move, Roy and Riza supporting the Ambassador between them. It was only a few minutes before they were being chased once more down the strangely deserted streets.

Bullets thudded around them. Roy had time to wonder where the Military Police were before he was telling Riza to split up and take the long way around to the Armstrong mansion. He would hopefully lead them towards the Command Center and keep their attention away from the wounded Ambassador. Riza nodded, with only a little sadness in her face. It was time to be the soldier, not the woman.

Roy turned and sent out a scorching jet of flame. Their pursuers were eviscerated. In another moment he had transmuted himself what he hoped would look like the Ambassador in the semi-dark.

And now Roy Mustang was running through the streets of Amestris, a dummy's arm slung across his shoulders whilst bullets pummeled the pavement at his feet.

He was nearly to the Command Center. He could see the lights, a steady beam that was guiding him closer towards safety.

He felt the bullet catch the skin of his neck. It was embarrassing, it didn't do much more than etch a nice furrow into the nape before it sped by. But the momentum flung him to the ground.

Someone's barking laugh pierced the ringing in his ears. Roy flung himself onto his back and snapped, and the nearest assassin disappeared with a bloodless scream.

Four others emerged from the lengthening shadows, pistols pointed at Mustang.

Roy clapped and felt the surge of Alchemic power flow through him. He still didn't like transmuting this way, but needs must. He pressed his hands to the concrete and a wall heaved itself up out of the ground just in time. Gunfire peppered its surface, but Roy was safe from it for the moment. They would come around that barrier anytime and plaster him. It was now or never.

Mustang reached around the concrete wall and pressed his fingers together. He didn't like transmuting where he couldn't see, but there was no choice.

He heard the surprised cry and the sharp report of gunfire. But his thumb and forefinger were still pressed tightly together. More shouts and thuds and shots were heard. Someone was fighting, was it Riza?

Roy flung himself from cover, both hands poised in front of him. Shock stopped him dead in his tracks.

Dancing amongst the assassins, a deadly dancer, laying out a heavy rain of blows was a man Roy had not seen in five years.

"Fullmetal?"

XX

Ed was already running towards the sound of the explosion before its echo had died away. It was almost unnerving how easily he became that boy of 15. It was instinctive to go and run to the source of the explosion; to see if anyone was hurt or needed his help.

He turned a corner just in time to see half a dozen armed men follow two figures down an alley.

More side-streets. Ed groaned internally, but still gave chase. He passed the smoldering wreckage of a lone military vehicle. He had time enough to wonder what it was doing out in a more abandoned part of the city before adrenaline swept it away.

Ed caught up to the running men and saw a wall tear up and out or the ground in the middle of the street. So they had an Alchemist trapped. He wondered if it was Armstrong since the muscle-bound maniac used stone based alchemy.

He didn't have more than a second to ponder it though. The wall had done its job, but now the gunmen were circling around to get a shot at the Alchemist behind. Ed didn't think. He reacted.

Even with the loss of his Automail arm, Edward had been thrilled to find his technique required only minor adjustments. It was the loss of his Alchemy which caused him several…hiccups over the years on the road to self-rediscovery. But he'd adapted to weaker punches and adopted a new, footwork-based style.

Ed leaped, leading his prosthetic leg into the nearest goon. He felt the satisfying crunch of bone and was sprinting to the next man who took a right to the sternum before Ed's elbow dropped him to the pavement.

He saw a figure emerge from behind the hastily constructed barrier, but he was too focused on the guy trying to get a bead on him. That wasn't happening.

Ed slid in low and caught the man's legs. The gun exploded and skidded across the street, safely away from the Alchemist. He smirked and drew his arm back just as something smashed against the back of his skull.

Stars burst across his eyes and Ed flopped onto the road, what little of his mind remained floating above the crashing waves of pain screamed at him. Move. Move. Move. Move. Move. Move now. Move now!

A second, vicious blow to the head sent him back down, sprawling on his stomach. His mind spun hazily as he tried to fend off the booted heel, turning onto his back and trying to get his arms up. The attacker was a muted blur dancing in front of his eyes. It raised its foot, ready to crush his head like a grapefruit.

And then the man burst into flame.

Ed felt a rush of heat against the back of his neck and tried to look behind him. Something was burning there too, he thought he remembered what it might be, but the ache in his head wouldn't let him. Black was threading along the edges of his vision and no matter how Ed tried to push it away, it seemed to creep steadily inwards until a few grey streaks were all he could see.

He felt himself hit the ground, but softly, like he'd just decided to ease himself down.

Somewhere in the distance, someone was shouting, but their words were garbled and fuzzy. Ed told them to speak clearly; or…maybe he told them that, he couldn't hear what he was saying either.

And then someone was pulling him up. His head violently protested the action. Ed cursed and might've mumbled something to whoever was grabbing onto his head to stop jerking him around so much couldn't they see he was mortally wounded. It was something like that anyway; the throbbing in his skull was making him say strange things, if anything at all.

"Fullmetal." The voice was grainy. It sounded like it belonged to a person he should remember, but it hurt too much to think.

"Idiot, don't call me that." He muttered to the voice and let the siren song of sleep overtake him.

Funny, siren song sounded like a man chuckling.


	5. Chapter 5

_Thanks for all the reviews!_

_Warnings: Marital Angst, mentions of Ed/Winry, mentions of character death._

_All mistakes are my own._

* * *

**Chapter 5**

Five years ago he'd been nothing. Master always used to said so. Master always said to watch and not to say anything. So he did. He'd learned a lot in the dark, in his secret places, watching Master and Master's friends. But he had been a secret, always in the shadows where no one could see. He liked it in there, in the dark, in the quiet. No one but Master looked for him there. Master took care of him. Master showed him things in the dark, amazing things, beautiful things.

But now his master was dead. So now he was the master. Black man said so.

He liked Black man. Black man didn't make him come out of the shadows. Black man didn't make him give up his beautiful things; the things Master had taught him. He got to make more things too, like Master; out of the things Black man brought to him. Sometimes the things screamed. He didn't like that so much. But sometimes they just sat and let him make them into new things. That was better. That was more fun.

He liked fun.

Black man liked fun too.

So he made more things.

Being Master was fun.

**xx**

Ed drifted slowly from unconsciousness. He didn't want to wake up, but his body was relentlessly forcing his mind upwards; a diver from the black abyssal.

He was lying on his stomach; a pillow smashed into his cheek and the mother of all headaches knocking on the back of his skull. He lifted his arm, touching where the throbbing was worst and the soft contours of linen met his probing fingers.

The heavy whisper of snoring broke the silence beside him and Ed shifted to look.

The sudden movement had the ache in his skull lashing fiery whips down his spine as the room began to tilt crazily. Edward hissed through clenched teeth while everything around him grew hazy and grey. He was fighting to stay conscious, but it was a losing battle. Beside him the breathing deepened and Ed heard a familiar, sleepy, voice, one he couldn't quite place with the world shifting on its axis. "Hey, are you awake?"

Whatever answer he might've made was lost to the darkness that wrapped him up and dragged him back down to the abyss.

**.:xXXx:.**

This was a good evening. Had been a good evening. The kids were in bed and Ed had Winry to himself for the first time in what felt like forever. He wasn't ready to admit aloud that he'd missed her, but he had and he was enjoying the press of her softness against his side as they snuggled on the sofa. He'd been wondering if he'd get to enjoy this tonight, after their argument earlier that afternoon.

His son, because apparently whenever the boy did anything Winry didn't like his genetics were predominately Elric, was using his Alchahestry to full effect. Edward found it thrilling. Winry was somewhat less pleased, especially when their three year old son was using his new talents it to tie his sister's hair into knots. But they'd made up and Ed was blissfully taking in the peace. He glanced down at his wife to find her gazing expectantly up at him; waiting for his reply to her question, which he'd missed.

"Huh?" Edward cleared his throat. "What did you say?"

His wife, who typically didn't like repeating herself, sighed. "I said I was just wondering how Ling was doing. We haven't heard from him since he became Emperor of Xing."

Ed nodded; a little confused as to what brought the Emperor of Xing to Winry's mind, but content in understanding he would never truly grasp her mental processes. He answered. "Al said everything was okay when he was over there last year." It was a little odd. He didn't even think Winry cared about Ling, if she remembered their one meeting almost five years ago.

"But that was a year ago." Winry protested. "He hasn't been in Xing since he and May got married."

"Well, yeah I guess, but Ling would've dragged us to Xing if he needed anything."

Winry frowned. "It's been a long time. Don't you want to see your friend?"

"Ling was such a pain." Ed laughed dismissively. "He can send a letter if he misses us."

Winry was quiet. "Do you think they've made any breakthroughs in Alchahestry since Al was over there?"

It was Ed's turn to frown, but in confusion. Since when was Winry interested in Alchahestry? She tolerated it for his sake, but she'd never liked to talk about it. Said it gave her a headache. "Maybe. I mean, it's possible." He looked down at her and shrugged. "But Al can handle the Alchahestry if he needs to. He's the only one who can really learn it. I'm only a theoretician anymore." He tried not to sound defensive about the last bit. It still rankled, going from one of Amestris' best to a desk bound bookworm. He didn't regret it, but he still disliked the consiquences.

"So you don't want to do anything?" Edward blinked at the accusation in his wife's tone and the sudden leap the conversation had taken.

"What are you talking about?" He shook his head. "I'm learning everything I can about Alchahestry and helping raise our children. Isn't that doing something?"

"I meant…" Winry cut herself off. "Never mind."

Now Ed was thoroughly confused. He thought they were having a nice, calm conversation about Ling. Why was Winry disappointed in him all of a sudden? What had he said?"

His wife slid off the couch, turning to walk upstairs.

"Winry." He called after her, really and truly baffled. "What's wrong?"

She sighed, so softly he almost thought he'd imagined the sound. "Let's just go to bed." She said over her shoulder before disappearing up the stairs, leaving Edward to wonder what he'd done to offend her this time and where his nice quiet cuddle on the couch had gone.

**.:xXXx:.**

Fuehrer Roy Mustang stared down at the golden-haired man, his dark eyes searching the body, the face for any signs of consciousness. But the former State Alchemist slept on, oblivious to Roy's silent perusal. Roy thought perhaps he had simply imagined the sounds and movements.

It would be just like Fullmetal to yank his chain that way, Roy mused with a small amount of humor. He frowned. The oldest Elric was no longer a State Alchemist; he wasn't any kind of Alchemist anymore. But Roy couldn't get the title out of his head.

Fullmetal was Edward Elric, no matter how much he had changed or grown up. And the man sleeping in the hospital bed had changed.

Roy considered the sleeping form of the formerly Fullmetal Alchemist.

It was strange seeing him after so long. Roy barely recognized this limp pile of limbs as the same tenacious teenager who'd helped turn Amestris on its ear. Somehow, the golden hair he remembered from five years ago had gone dull, lost some of its luster.

Roy shook his head. He must have taken a blow to the head within the last four hours. He was thinking crazy thoughts. How could hair be any brighter or duller than itself?

The door opened quietly behind him. Roy didn't need to look to know it was Riza. She came to stand beside him, staring down at Edward.

"Sir, the Ambassador is settled in and is asking to see you."

Roy nodded and smirked, pulling his coat and hat from the chair next to Edward's bed. "Well then, I'd better get going. I wouldn't want to start an international incident, would I?"

"God forbid, sir." was Riza's deadpan reply. They shared a brief smile between them. Roy would be the last person in the world to start a political incident, international or otherwise.

"Watch him Major." Roy sighed before he left, fitting his hat over gel slicked hair. "Make sure he doesn't get into any_more_ trouble."

Riza smiled again, this time it held a little more genuine humor. Her salute was still crisp and sharp as the leader of her country left the small hospital room, to the four State Alchemists waiting to escort him to his destination.

Riza turned to Ed. Half of his face peeked out from the overstuffed hospital pillows. That half was relaxed in sleep. Edward should have looked peaceful, but his face was changed.

Riza sat and studied the unconscious features, comparing them to the memory of the boy she hadn't seen in too many years.

Edward's face was at once the same and yet fundamentally different. It carried none of the impish mischief she remembered from five years ago. Lines creased his forehead and the corners of his mouth where none had previously impressed; deeply ingrained from worry or stress. They didn't suit his face. Whatever had happened in the five years since they had seen one another, it couldn't have been pleasant; which was an odd thing to extrapolate, since last Riza had heard, Edward was settled in Resembol with Alphonse and his wife Winry. Riza would have expected him to have lines from laughter, not frowning.

Ed shifted unconsciously under her scrutiny; burrowing deeper into his pillow and looking a little more like the teenager she remembered.

Riza smiled fondly and sat, slipping her heavy coat off to hang over the back of the chair and settled in for a night of waiting and watching.

**XX**

The Armstrong estate had served Roy well since the insurrection five years ago. Then, it had housed the army and tank necessary to turn the tide of his revolution. Now, it served as a fortress, a secret safe-house for the Dracman Ambassador. And, if there were no objections, the man may stay in the estate for the remainder of his visit.

Roy took the steps two at a time, hoping that he had not in fact, facilitated an international incident. Despite his flippant words to Riza, he wasn't so much of a fool he wanted to wade through that political nightmare, at least, not on his first day.

Roy glanced at his watch. It was technically his second day. Alright, he could handle another war with Dracma.

General Olivier Armstrong was waiting for him at the front door. Roy might've teased her about answering her own door, but he found he wasn't in the mood. Instead he returned her nod of greeting and headed for the Ambassador's room.

He heard the crisp clip of Olivier's boots fall in behind him.

"How is the Ambassador?"

Olivier snorted. "Indomitable. He's been asking for you every five minutes since he woke up. It seems he's grown rather fond of you."

"Funny what saving a man's life will do to his disposition." Roy commented dryly.

"It seems the assassins' plans backfired." Olivier said.

Roy frowned. "So it would seem." Yes, he couldn't have hoped for a better turnout to the night, but something about the situation wasn't sitting well with him. It was stupid considering he'd just survived an assassination attempt. However, he'd learned long ago, not to ignore his gut; except he wasn't sure what it was telling him.

"Ah, my friend." The Ambassador enveloped Roy in a ferocious bear hug the instant he stepped foot in the guest room. "I am gratified to see you are well. I was beginning to wonder if you were not dead since they could not produce you." Roy opened his mouth to speak, but the Dracman continued.

"But here you are, and without a scratch. What marvels cling to you, my friend. You are truly sitting in fortunes' favor this night. It is a good omen." The man nodded finitely. "Amestris and Dracma must fight no more, my friend."

Roy felt his eyebrows crawling up to his hairline, but kept them in place through sheer willpower. "So it would seem." He murmured.

**XX**

Ed next opened his eyes to brilliant sunlight. Shafts of light poured through the open windows, making his eyes ache and the back of his skull throb. As carefully as he could, Ed shifted away from the windows. He was pleased to discover the room stayed on its correct axis this time. His neck still protested, but not nearly as badly as before. He reached up gingerly again to touch the swath of bandages around his head and throat. A dull pinprick of pain jabbed his arm when he moved it and he glanced over to see a needle nestled in the crook of his arm, feeding him intravenously. Ed frowned. He knew from his time spent in hospitals that tubing in ones arm was never a good sign.

Out of the corner of his eye, Ed spied the royal blue of a military coat. It was draped over the back of the chair beside his bed, but the chair itself was empty. Ed couldn't for the life of him think who the coat belonged to. He hoped it wasn't Armstrong's. He disliked that man's method of treatment. Example of a perfect physical specimen his left testicle.

Ed frowned and tried to think how he'd gotten to the hospital. A good portion of his memory was blank.

He remembered chasing the five idiots who were dumb enough to try beating up an Alchemist. He remembered the surprise attack, the blow to the back of his skull, multiple jarring hits. He remembered something give in his head and the stars burst behind his eyes. He thought he remembered heat, a weird popping crackle both behind and in front of him. Fire. Smelling burnt fabric and the sharp sweetness of seared flesh. He remembered someone calling for him, but whomever was doing the calling got his name wrong. He wasn't the Fullmetal Alchemist anymore. He was just plain old Edward Elric. The idiot.

The door opened and Riza Hawkeye stepped into Edward's room. Their eyes met and hers lit up. A warm smile overwrote the lines of concern etched into her face and she suddenly looked ten years younger.

Ed found himself returning the gesture as the blond woman went over to the empty chair beside him and sat. "Glad to see you're awake, Edward. You had us all worried for a while."

Edward's brow furrowed. "How long was I out?"

"It's been five days since you were conscious last."

Which explained the 'all fluid diet'.

"The doctor said you were lucky you didn't get your head kicked in."

"Hey." Edward mock growled. "Give me a little credit here. I was just biding my time; lulling them into a false sense of security."

Riza just shook her head, but Ed could see the smile at the corners of her mouth. "You're very fortunate the Fuerher stepped in when he did. You both were lucky really."

"Wait, the Fuehrer?" Edward broke into a wide smile. "I didn't see Grumman. How is the old guy?"

Riza lost some of the color in her face and her tone was careful. "You mean you haven't heard?"

"Heard what? What are you…" Edward's words trailed off as Riza's face grew somber. "No way." He said, his eyes turning back to his hands, now clutching the blankets. "How?"

"The doctor said it was a heart attack." Riza said. "Nobody suspected."

Edward's head bowed, golden bangs shifted forward to cover golden eyes. His voice was low. "Ornery old bastard. I can't believe he'd let a little thing like that kill him. I always figured he'd outlive us all."

Riza's laugh sounded more like a sob, but when Ed glanced over, her eyes were dry. He reached over and put a hand on top of hers where it rested on her knee.

She smiled, but it was a smile filled with sadness.

"How are you holding up?" Ed asked. Riza just shook her head.

"Ask me that in a few years Edward. I might know then."

They sat in silence, until a nurse came with what she called lunch. Edward was less than impressed with the offering since it was served with milk. Riza shook her head and suppressed a small smile as the nurse tried unsuccessfully to get Ed to drink a little. Ed ate everything else on the plate Riza noticed. Like a starving man. Riza wondered how long it had been since Ed had eaten, but didn't dwell on it. He was being taken care of now. So she filled him in on the last five years worth of gossip. Breda, Havoc and Fuery had all been promoted, Breda twice. Fuery was the Fuerher's personal communications liaison. Havoc was married to Riza's best friend as of two and a half years ago. General Armstrong was engaged to an Ishvalan woman. The rebuilding of Ishval was going well and slated to end before the year was over. Alchahestry was becoming a main staple in the science community, due, in no small part, to the Elric brother's efforts. Roy was named Grumman's successor and had taken over leadership of Amestris a week ago.

Ed got a huge kick out of that. "So the Colonel finally did it." He said, pushing away his clean plate and his untouched milk. "Sure took his sweet time." Ed glanced up at Riza. "What's he planning on doing with it?"

"I can't tell you everything." Riza said. "But I can tell you he intends to keep the agreement with Ishval. He's not going to let Amestris descend into war like before."

Ed frowned. "What about the current system of government? Is any of that going to change?"

"Everything takes time, Edward." Riza leaned forward, her elbows resting on her knees. "Especially change. People like having power and they don't like it when someone tells them they need to give it up, even if it's for the greater good."

"Yeah." Ed nodded. "I guess you're right."

A soft tapping at the door announced Edward's doctor. The man hemmed and hawed over Ed's injury, poking and prodding while making small satisfied noises.

"You're injuries are healing quite well. I'm very sure you're going to enjoy a full recovery."

"Great." Ed said. "Then I'm leaving."

They both ignored the indignant sqwaking of the doctor who was certain Ed needed to stay in the hospital another week at least for 'observation'. Riza showed him out and returned to her chair. "Where will you go?"

Ed shrugged, a little relieved she wasn't trying to talk him out of leaving. He was getting restless, staying cooped up in this tiny room for so long. "I don't know." He shrugged. "Maybe I'll head up north, maybe East to Xing, see what kind of a mess Ling's gotten himself into. I'll probably visit a few people before I leave town though. It's been awhile since I've seen everybody and I promised Mrs. Bradley I'd come over, if the invitation's still good." He mused.

Riza's frown deepened. "Then you haven't heard that either."

Golden eyes flicked upward to meet brown.

"Mrs. Bradley died almost two years ago."

**XX**

"My Lord." Lan Fan spoke from her place in the throne room, the corner with the deepest shadows. "We have just received a communication from Amestris. Their Fuehrer: Grumman has recently died and Roy Mustang has taken his place."

"What else?"

Lan Fan bowed. "Fuehrer Mustang has sent a personal communiqué. He wishes your presence in Central Command along with the three other border nations for a 'Peace Summit.'"

"A Peace Summit. How very ambitious Mustang."

"My Lord?"

Ling, Emperor of Xing, Lord of the Easter expanse, smiled.

"Tell my attendents to send Mustang my reply, Lan Fan. We're going to Amestris. And this time, I don't think I'm going to wind up in jail."

* * *

AN: Here you are. Please review, it makes my heart sing. Roy and Ed will meet and talk actually...probably next chapter; which you will not have to wait nearly as long for.

Until next time...


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